


Trouble Will Find Me

by Imoisok



Series: Child of Hammerfell [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Abusive Parents, Ancanos a bitch, Backstory, Canon Rewrite, College, F/F, Mages, Magic, Non-Canon Relationship, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Pre-Canon, Sister-Sister Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:13:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21808009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imoisok/pseuds/Imoisok
Summary: Magical prodigy, Monne Cushte, started out with the humblest of backgrounds - living on a farm in Hammerfell with her parents and her sister.Her mother had never liked the encouragement from Monne's father to better her magical abilities, but when he's killed by vampires in Morrowind, the abuse gets worse. Even worse so when Monne accidentally burns the farm's crops and changes her life forever.All she wants is to travel Tamriel like her father before her. She may think she knows much about her own future, but only the gods know what's in store for Monne Cushte.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Brelyna Maryon, Savos Aren/Mirabelle Ervine
Series: Child of Hammerfell [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571419
Kudos: 6





	1. With All The Right Parts

**Author's Note:**

> (This is hopefully gonna be updated regularly and there will be more parts to this series since her story is pretty long!!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Abuse, Violence?? and Death

**15:24 Loredas, 23rd Sun's Height 185 4E**

She ran to her father, arms outstretched to the point where it hurt a bit, and he bundled her up in his arms. It felt like home. Monne's father had been gone longer than usual this time, and her family had almost feared the worst. But when they heard the sound of a caravan rolling over the hills, they ran quickly out of their home and into the bright, happy sunshine on a Loredas afternoon and there he was.

Monne closed her eyes pushing herself closer to her father's chest for protection, from what, she didn't know yet. Her younger sister, Talava, bounded forward also, being a bit louder and more excitable than Monne. The sisters giggled together and their father laughed his deep and fatherly Redguard laugh as he looked over to his wife, who was leaning against the doorframe of the farmhouse, grinning at him with her arms crossed. He smiled back with a glint in his eye.

"All right, you two. leave your father be. He's had along journey and I'm sure the last he'd want to do is to put up with your silliness," Monne's mother said, waltzing over arms still crossed. The children quickly sat down on the grass in front of him, hands in lap, barely able to keep still. 

"So, do you kids want your presents?" Monne and Talava instantly nodded, mouths wide open in wonder at what they were going to see. With a laugh, their father said, "Okay, then if you really want them," he first stood up and handed his wife a bouquet of colourful and exotic flowers from lands she had never seen before. He planted a kiss on her cheek as she smelt the fragrance of the bouquet in her hands. She thanked him with a smile and walked back indoors to put them into a clean vase.

Monne frowned impatiently, Talava wriggling about next to her, her blonde, short hair shifting around with her body. "But da-"

"All right darlings, let's not be so impatient. Now," Their father went over to the back of his caravan and rummaged around for a bit, mumbling as he did so, the sun reflecting off his dark-reddish skin. "I have one present for the each of you, that I brought back from High Rock. Do you know where that is?"

Talava looked to her sister who already knew the answer. "In the north, where you showed me! I remembered! That's where the Bretons live," she stated a-matter-of-factly. 

"That's right Monne, and the Bretons just love to do magic don't they?" Monne nodded at her father's words, hoping what she anticipated had come true. "Talava, the friendly market girls up in High Rock agreed to make you a special doll-" Just at the moment where he produced the ragdoll from behind his back, Talava snatched it up into her arms cuddling it close to her face.

"Yay! Thank you papa!" She said sweetly, running down from the mound to play with her new doll in the lush grassy fields near her house. 

"Be careful!" His father tried to call after Talava, and then tsked as she started to throw the doll up in the air. He looked quickly back to Monne who was still looking up at her father in admiration. "How's my special little mage, hm?" He ruffled Monne's dark, long hair. She shrugged, still smiling with excitement. "Okay then, you know, you can't tell your mother about this, alright? She'll never let me forget this if you do," Monne nodded quickly and said,

"I promise I won't."

"Good, so," Monne's father reached around and grabbed the book from behind him and showed it to her. Monne's eyes lit up as she scanned over the image on the front. It looked like a hand, but it had a a swirl pattern on the palm; the destruction school symbol. She knew it well when she was curiously looking at other destruction tomes in the city library. "Here's your gift." 

Monne's hands were almost shaking as she reached out and took the fairly thick leather-bound tome from her father's hands. She held it in front of her so that she could see all of it and realised what she still hadnt done yet, "Thank you pa! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Her father laughed, and smiled down at the daughter that he had built, who was now flipping through all the yellowed pages filled with text and drawings. Her eyes widened with every image of the fire spell that the tome was for. She looked up at her father then at the book, then up again, then down again. Monne had only really mastered the spells candlelight, magelight and healing so this new destruction spell would be a great leap for her. Monne's father knew this, of course, but he would never want to put her in any sort of danger unless he knew that she was ready. And she could be, but she could also not be. Monne was only nine years old but her knowledge of magic had far progressed the mind of any young adult Redguard. This was what her father saw in her, what her sister saw in her, and unfortunately, what her mother saw in her. Monne's father said finally,

"This spell tome is for flames, which I think you can easily master in a matter of minutes Monne, but that does not mean that you should." Looking up from her book, Monne frowned and cocked her head to one side. Her father closed the book but pushed it further towards her. "It is extremely dangerous, you should know that. If you want to learn it, you can-" Monne squealed quietly in glee. "But! It has to be learnt with a matter of great caution. Only adults can really learn this in a small amount of time, okay? Now I'm not usually the one to say such things, but this time I mean it. Do you understand Monne?" She looked down at the book in wonderment again and nodded slowly, taking all the information in. "I knew you would my little mage. Now, go put that book away before your mother sees it, okay?" 

**11:15 Middas, 3rd Last Seed 192**

**~~~**

It had been two weeks since Monne's father had left to go on yet another one of his trips and while Talava was inside the farmhouse with her mother helping with the cooking, Monne was out back in the midst of the trees on the other side of the house. She sat peacefully in the grass, spell tomes laid out in front of her along with a few potions, some failed and some successful. Also beside her was a large metal bucket of water from the river, which had finally started to fill up again after the dry summer they had had. The water was just for emergencies of course, in case Monne's sparks or flames went awry.

The spells she was trying to recently master was the firebolt spell, which had proven more difficult than she had anticipated. All the spell tomes she had in front of her were for firebolt, but each one was from a different author. She knew better than to trust just one mage. Scanning the pages again for the tenth time that morning, Monne stood up and readied her hands; she thought she was ready.

It took just a few seconds now for the spell to appear in her palm, which it took almost minutes to do before. Monne stood with her legs spread fairly far apart, diagonal from one another as she focused on the rock in front of her. Then carefully, trying not to hit the trees beside it, she clenched her fingers like the books told her to and splayed them out towards the rock. Expecting to see maybe just a small firebolt to come from her palm, instead only several embers flew from it. She tried again and again, clench and splay, clench and splay. But still, barely any progress was being made.

An ember from her hand floated through the late summer's breeze and fell onto the dry grass, catching it alight. 

"Oh, shit!" Monne cursed, stumbling over to the metal bucket as quickly as she could. Shakily grabbing the handle, she hoisted up the large weight of the load of water and poured it onto the flames. Phew. Now she knew she could do that if anything went wrong. Her dark plait whipping round, she checked behind her at all angles to check that her mother was not watching. Monne knew she would never see those books again if so.

Time to try again. Monne flipped through all the spell tomes until she found pages that she hadnt read or seen before and studied those pages one word at a time, so carefully you might have thought her life could've been on the line. She had to learn this spell quickly, for some reason. _But that does not mean that you should._ She heard her father's words, deep and clear in her head and sighed. Closing her eyes, she stood tall again, facing the rock once more. Maybe she should open her eyes. The sun glistened through the trees and shone a reflective glaze over Monne's silver irises. She squinted at the sun and did what the books had told her to.

Anxiously, she focused almost every ounce of her magical energy on her clenched hand. Splaying her fingers out towards the rock, she felt it. The heat of blazing fire, the draining of her magicka and the sheer joy when she finally saw a small, but mighty firebolt shoot onto the rock. A small part of the rock now looked quite scorched and dry with embers. Realizing she still had her hand splayed out in front of her, Monne looked at her palm, unscathed and still as smooth as ever, and grinned uncontrollably. She even let out a little giggle. Then she maybe jumped up and down a little, pumping her fists in the air. Maybe she chuckled loud enough for her 11-year-old sister to come running out of the farmhouse to see what was all the commotion about. 

Monne looked at the rock and her palm in utter pride and thought with a small nod of her head, _Yeah, that one needs practice._ Patting her sister lovingly on her head, she wondered back in the direction of the farmhouse.

**19:56 Middas, 3rd Last Seed 192**

**~~~**

The three Cushte women where sitting on the far end of the dining table, Monne's mother and Talava opposite Monne. Only the slight crackling of the dimming fire and the sound of spoons scraping bowls clean of the vegetable stew Monne's mother had whipped up that evening could be heard. Luckily it was not clam chowder like usual. Monne had to restrain herself from gagging at the thought. 

While she looked at her mother and sister sitting across from her, Monne realised how similar they were to eachother. Both had dandilion blonde hair, naturally wavy, but while her mother had her hair down just below her shoulders, Talava's hair just about brushed her shoulders. If Monne's father also had blonde locks like theirs, Monne would've been jealous of those golden strands, but she was not and her father was a noirette like her. She held that with an honour. Her father had his hair almost always in a tight bun, softly placed at the back of his skull and Monne wanted to replicate that in more ways than one (and by that I mean space buns) but instead her mother always kept Monne's hair tightly screwed into a perfect plait that hung to the middle of her back. By the end of the day however, some wild strands had usually gonne astray from the plait and curled from the humidity. 

Talava's eyes too. They were dark, so dark that you would not have been able to see the pupils in the midst of her irises. Just like her mother's eyes. Monne's eyes were a misty grey, which was actually rare for a Redguard like herself, but that made it all the better to her. They were an odd family but if you'd had seen them walking the streets of Dragonstar, you would not have needed a second glance to realise they were one family. Maybe, on the outside, they could have seemed to be a happy, peaceful one.

One with all the right parts.

A mother, firm and strict, sitting upright at a dining table sipping wine.

A sister, young and sweet, placing her empty bowl on the dining table.

A father, warm and comforting, off to places gods knows where.

And a daughter, gifted and obedient, looking over to the front door when it was knocked upon.

Monne got up from her bench and stepped over to front door and opened it to reveal someone that she didn't recognise. They were short and thin, probably no older than sixteen and they wore a cloth cap over their head. Slung around his shoulder was a sizeable satchel seemingly full with letters. This was a courier. How he found their family's farmhouse out here, Monne had no idea. She frowned as the boy handed her a letter with a red wax seal, that usually meant it was extremely important. Then the courier pulled out a couple of coin purses that looked stuffed to the brim with septims.

At first, Monne's eyes lit up as she saw them but then her stomach rose to her mouth. _No, it can't be. Please no. Please, please, please._ She quickly made a prayer to the gods that what she had suspected was not true. 

"Sorry for your loss." Monne tried to block out the words emitted from the courier's mouth, but it was not enough for her to keep herself from letting her emotions come out. The courier walked away and down the path, but Monne stayed on the front step. Tears forming in her eyes, Monne looked up at the starry night sky and at the moons, Masser and Secunda. Without daring to take a glance, she fumbled about with the letter and opened it, breaking the wax seal. She held it tight, her hands shaking though it wasn't from chill.

_Nanita, Talava and Monne Cushte,_

_In the name of Emperor Titus Mede II, it is with great regret to inform you of Amleren Cushte's death by vampires in Morrowind._

She read it again.

_To inform you of Amleren Cushte's death by vampires in Morrowind_

It can't be. This has to be some sort of sick joke. 

_Amleren Cushte's death by vampires in Morrowind._

She dropped the money bags on the floor and stumbled backwards, just about catching herself on the doorframe. Holding a hand to her forehead, Monne heard the sound of her young sister rushing towards her. Too innocent. Too naive. 

_Death._

_Vampires._

_Morrowind._

Monne felt the heat of anger rising up in her chest, coming out in sharp and shallow breaths, or maybe it was heartache, maybe it was the tears ready to flow out. It was the kind of anger that could only be felt by a daughter who had just lost the person that was keeping her alive and well and passionate. She hated those vampires. She hated Morrowind.

She hated herself for crying, letting out all the sorrow in front of her family. A family without one of the right parts. What did that make it?

Broken.

**12:02 Sundas 19th Sun's Height 197**

**~~~**

Monne rose up onto her knees, with her eyes closed, and hands held together in front of her. She breathed in a shaky breath of the sweet midsummer air, it smelt of pollen and cut grass. Monne sighed and let out the prayer to her lady, tapping her sister who sat cluelessly beside her, copying Monne with every move and word. Talava also said the prayer.

"In your holy name, oh Meridia,

we pray for life itself.

For what greater gift is there

than simply living?

Walk ever in the light, for it will guide us.

Walk never in the dark, for it will blind us.

Hear us, Lady of Infinite Energies,

for you are the guiding star in a dark sea of troubles."

Talava opened one eye and looked over to her sister who still had both of her eyes closed.

"Monne?" She did not answer.

"Monne?" Again, no answer just a clench of her jaw that was meant to tell Talava to shut the hell up. She obeyed. 

Monne did not let Talava see what was really going on inside of her. If you were to climb inside of Monne's head right then, you'd see a mess of blurred images. Many of which are her imaginings of her father being slaughtered, sliced open by vampires. Vampires. The undead. Monne's recent hatred for them had sparked a new and vast interest in the daedric prince, Meridia, daedra of the energy of living things, meaning that any of those who follow her teachings would want to eliminate any and all undead they shall see. Of course, including vampires.

Monne saw Meridia's teachings as something to do as much as possible and one day, she would want to travel to her temple in Cyrodiil when she grew up. She was old enough then, to leave her mother and sister behind and go off to parts of Tamriel that she had only heard of from her father. However, she couln't bring herself to leave her sister behind even though she was old enough to take care of herself now. Monne still saw the memory of Talava playing around with her new doll in the grass, when everything was perfect. And happy. When their family had all the right parts.

She stood up and opened her eyes to the small, humble Meridia shrine in front of them. Talava rose up with Monne, who was just as a devout follower to Meridia as she was, but she didn't truly understand the hatred for vampires as much as Monne did. For Talava did not have the happy memories of a father giving her the life she wanted. A life she could now only dream of. 

Talava bowed down to the shrine, as did Monne. The second after, Talava looked over at Monne who was still looking down at her feet. She put her arms around her, and Monne felt the warmth and the heat of someone who loved her, but it wasn't the same. It will never be the same.

Monne stayed still and kept the tears inside of her this time as she heard the soft noise of the footsteps from her sister who stepped back inside. Finally, she was alone with her thoughts and her hands.

Monne hadn't dared to think about her magical abilities too much since her father died for the memories were too much to handle and she would have to stop. But it had been five years since she had wept for the loss of her father. It was time again to begin to think about her magic. Her unfinished business. It had almost felt like the energy had built up inside of her, ready to shoot out in sparks, firebolts and orbs of light. First she must test her abilities.

Monne focused her energy into her hand and there it was, a shimmering blue light. A companion she hadn't realised she had missed until that very moment. Almost in an instant, Monne cast the spell and a glimmer of hope rose up from her hand and shone by her side. It lit up the trees and the grass on an overcast afternoon. They didn't get many of these in Hammerfell, but it seemed to reflect on what Monne had felt. 

Then, Monne felt the corners of her mouth tug up into a smile as she looked to the ray of hope floating by her shoulder and she remembered the times when she had done that same thing before. She was smiling. After all this time, she was doing magic. Gods, she missed the feeling of the magicka energy rising up in her arms, refilling what she had used. 

In an instant, Monne let out a chuckle and spun around in joy. She felt the raging need to let out all her emotions in blazing firebolts that could shoot from her hands. 

Running up and down the fields of corn and barley and leeks and potatoes, Monne shot the flaming bolts of light and heat into the air at all angles. She was smiling, and laughing and dancing and jumping about. Finally, she felt like a little kid again. The four-year-old that giggled in glee at the little lights she could produce with her hands. The seven-year-old that could heal wounds on her body from her fingertips. The nine-year-old that flicked through pages and pages of spell tomes for sparks, frostbite, fear, and flames. The sixteen-year-old that could feel the warmth of her father's voice in her head, telling her to go easy as she shot small bolts of fire from her hands. And now, she felt it all. She felt it distract herself from the blazing fire she had started in the fields.

Monne heard the shouting from her mother. Maybe it was just her brain, telling her to stop. But when she turned around, she saw orange and yellow flames engulfing the crops they had worked so hard on that year. It shone in her eyes and she stood still with her lips no longer in that smile she wanted to feel. They were dry and wordless. 

It was all just a blur of feelings and sounds. A blur of autumn colours in the summertime, a blur of the colour of water being poured onto those crops. The feeling of Monne's mother pulling her so hard by the arm to go inside the house, the feeling of her hand being brought harshly upon Monne's cheek turning it red. The muffled sound of the words, "Freak! Freak!" and the muffled screams and shouts from her sister. 

However, the feeling of herself being shoved down a trapdoor by her own mother and onto the cold, wet straw below was as clear as day. Monne tried, she tried to claw her way back up the ladder and to the sweet, natural light. But it was shut off from her. The only light she could see now was her only companion candlelight, flickering in the cellar, showing off the wet stone walls and the shelves and shelves of discarded books. Monne looked to the room for comfort, but all she heard was silence. No shouting from her mother or from her sister. No crackling of the fire that set alight the family's future and wealth. All Monne heard was the voice of her father in her head, telling her not to rush into things. 

"I'm sorry father... I-I'm truly sorry..." She managed to choke out before becoming a discarded heap in the corner, trembling and useless. Then, her candlelight went out.


	2. Deafening Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monne Cushte, magical prodigy and devout follower of Meridia, has been shut off from the world.  
> It's three year later. Three years of turmoil down in the cellar, away from any sort of civilisation. Only the spell tomes could keep her company. Finally, she saw light again. And she could fulfill her dream of travelling Tamriel and finishing what her father had started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of Abuse, Violence and, I don't really know how to say it; Growing insanity??

**08:21 1st Rain's Hand 200 4E**

**~~~**

Monne felt ready. Ready to come out of this damned cellar. But she had been feeling this way for years. She had lost all track of time, no idea when it should be time to go to sleep or if she had only had three hours sleep or fifteen. She remembered her first few weeks inside the cellar. For a few hopeful moments, she though she would see the trapdoor open and find that her mother had forgiven her or that her sister had come to rescue her. But no matter how much she stared at that trapdoor, nobody let her out. The only times that it was opened was to give Monne some food and drink, and occassionally some spare clothes. As much as Monne wanted to believe that was her mother, deep down she knew that Talava was doing this for her. And she was eternally grateful.

After maybe a few weeks of being thrown in, Monne decided to stop sitting in the corner with her thoughts clouding her mind, and she finally went over to the shelves of books. As she pulled them out, she saw the symbols of all the magic schools. Monne was hit with a jolt of relief and gratefulness to her father and Meridia that these could keep her company. This was something her mother had failed to realise. While she could throw her down here, Monne would always find a way to better her magical abilities. 

And so Monne set to work, using her candlelight and magelight to read the spell tomes, she learnt of illusion spells she'd never heard of before, alteration spells that she'd heard of but never seen and destruction, restoration, conjuration was even a school Monne was interested in. She was at first afraid that her mother would hear the sounds of a storm atronach being summoned under her house, but Monne learned that her mother didn't want to look at her again, even if it meant not knowing the haunting sounds coming from the basement. 

After maybe one year, Monne had already learnt and mastered five new spells; Courage, lesser ward, ice spike, oakflesh and storm atronach. Not only that, but she felt that she had made this place her home, even if that meant not being able to see well at all times. Monne had used her discarded clothes to sew them together and make a blanket and a pillow. Of course, Monne had wanted to create a Meridia shrine right away, but it had proved extremely difficult considering she had none of the materials with her. But she improvised if that meant she could pray to her lady once again.

Monne never prayed to leave the cellar, since she knew that while this place was dark and dingy, life outside of it would be much, much worse. All she wanted was for her mother to accept her, but after a long time she knew that was not going to happen. 

On her second year, Monne had reached a point where she had begun to talk to herself about what she was doing. It was surprising that she didn't do this sooner. The muttering soon turned to outright chattering with the stones, the lights she had produced, the spells she casted and her daedra. Monne really thought that Meridia was guiding her through this, keeping her sane and healthy, but really it was the thought of her father being proud of Monne for surviving by herself down there. Sometimes Monne saw what she thought was her father emerging from the shadows, coming to save her, but whenever she blinked, Monne found it was just her brain.

She knew she was going slightly crazy. Everytime she found a new spell to do, she always jumped up and down for what felt like hours, thanking the walls and the hallucinations in her mind. Monne didn't care, in fact she liked it, going crazy but still staying slightly sane for her father and her daedra. Telekenisis was one of her absolute favourite spells, and she used it all the time, sometimes for fun and sometimes for her laziness. She was happy.

Third year. It had felt like a century since she had been thrown into this cellar. Monne stared at the books in front of her, they had proven most difficult. She thought of the light from outside, but she could barely remember what the sun felt like on her skin.

"If I was outside, I could probably learn these spells in moments. Why can't I just...come on..." Monne focused her energy on one hand, but she couldn't produce the energy needed for an adept level spell. She screamed in rage, shoving the books far away from her and into the bookshelves, knocking some dust off. Looking up, she realised. "Oh, father. Why couldn't you just have an infinite amount of books here?" Monne knew that one day, she would have no more books to read and she would just have to sit in the cellar forever, until she died. 

Her stomach rumbled. She hadn't had food for what she had guessed, two weeks. But it was actually around three days. Time had truly slowed down under there. Monne had worried and worried about what had happened to her sister. Thoughts of something happening to her made Monne hit her fists against the walls, throw firebolts at the ceiling and let the tears flow out of her, busting from her throat in deep sobs. But she had a lot of time to think, and she blocked out the thoughts with hallucinations. They were usually of her father, sometimes of Meridia, sometimes even her mother but never of Talava. Everytime she thought of her screams for Monne to get away from their mother, the sobs came again.

Monne was shaking, hands clasped in front of her as she sank against the wall and she rested herself on her bed. She didn't feel like breathing, like blinking let alone doing spells. Monne didn't speak to herself again after this. It was truly her breaking point. And as she laid there, waiting, praying for food, she didn't hear Talava come in. 

"Monne..." Talava softly whispered, putting a hand on her shaking sister's shoulder. This jolted Monne awake, quickly sitting up in her bed, staring at the shape in front of her that she so sorely missed. Then she looked around and realised what her sister must have been seeing. Books, ripped and strewn across the floor. A rugged blanket, made so clumsily that it was ripped and much too short. Empty plates piled up in the corner, covered in filth but licked clean. Smashed glasses, the pieces of stray glass also piled up in the corner. 

A shaking woman, with messy hair and unkept clothing who looked at her sister in desparation, for what, she didn't know. Was it food, warmth, light or even just a simple interaction. She missed seeing a different face so much, that was actually real and not just part of her imagination. Monne reached out towards Talava and touched her face. She was real. A real person.

"Monne..." Monne whispered back to her sister, who took her in her arms and comforted her as she shook with ragged sobs coming from her throat. They were both crying. She wasn't sure why she had said her own name. But she was so happy to hear it come from a different voice. Relaxing in her sister's arms, Monne let Talava guide her to the trap door. When she opened it, Monne felt the light sting her eyes. She thought, for a moment she was blinded but as her vision cleared, she saw it. Her home. Food on the table. Sunbeams streaming in through the windows.

Monne felt a sudden surge of energy come into her arms and her legs, pushing her forwards. She wasn't sure why her sister had led her out of the cellar, but right now she didn't care. Running towards the table, she reached out for the sweetroll sitting on a plate and took the biggest bite she could chew off. The sound of her sister laughing behind her was enought to make herself smile again. Not for a new spell or the fact that she had just mastered a handstand, but because she was free. Talava sat down in front of Monne and they shared a laugh, still with tears lining their eyes.

For the next few days, they talked to eachother all the time and couldn't let the other out of their sight. Talava spoke to Monne in loud and frantic tones while Monne spoke to Talava in hushed and calm tones. They were usually just single words or phrases, but it was enough. Just enough. 

Talava fixed Monne's hair to its usual state, a low plait and after that they ate. They ate and ate, when the time was right. Monne didn't even question or mention their mother. She was like an unspoken curse word, that they both knew should't be talked about. Monne had guessed she left, or maybe she died. But she pushed that thought from her mind. It was not important right now.

It had taken a few months for Monne to start doing magic again. And when she did, it felt like a tidal wave of panic and happiness and relief all at the same time. It made her relive the memories of the dark cellar, but after they had that place filled in with mud. The memories started to go away. 

Monne had Talava, her spells, her father's ghost and Meridia. But as they put their arms aroud eachother's shoulders, singing with mead in their cups at the local tavern, It was at that moment that Monne knew she had to leave Hammerfell. To finish what her father had begun.


	3. When They were Younger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monne has decided that it is her time to leave Hammerfell and continue her story. The sorrowful goodbye between two sisters who love eachother could just be the thing that keeps her home.

**22:35 Turdas, 2nd Frostfall 200 4E**

"Talava..." Monne and her sister were sitting in a comfortable silence together, reading in front of the fire. It crackled in front of them, sending little flaming embers onto the stone hearth in front of them. She was grateful for its warmth, after spending three years without a sufficient source. Talava was sitting beside her, her feet propped up on the edge of the leather chair, her nose buried deep in a book. 

"Yeah?" She didn't look up for a second glance at her sister.

Monne took a deep breath in; this was going to be difficult. She had lived with her sister for her whole entire life, and leaving her behind was something that she swore she would never do. They did everything together, and Monne had some definite affection towards Talava even if she copied everything Monne did. But she guessed that's was what made her so lovable. Talava would've never started to worship Meridia if Monne didn't introduce her to the idea. She even wanted to try a peek at the piles and piles of spell tomes that she was made to carry from the cellar after Monne refused to go down there ever again. 

Monne wanted to stay with Talava, with all her heart, but it was not her life. If she didn't leave now, then she might not ever want to leave. It was her calling, to find things she has never found before, delve into historical ruins, unlock parts of her magical abilities and maybe even find people, people that could understand her and trust her. 

Releasing the huge breath she took in, Monne looked over to Talava who had now put down the book in interest of what her sister was doing. 

"I... uh, well... I think I'm going to leave soon, Tal," She closed her eyes tight as she said this, and awaited her sister's hurt response. 

"Leave? To go... where?" Talava leaned in closer to Monne, over the arm of the chair.

"Well... everywhere, really." 

"What do you mean? Everywhere? Like... oblivion, everywhere or-"

"Gods, no, Tal. I meant... like, oh you know..." Monne stuttered, biting her nails, which were growing to be quite long until now. Talava slapped the hand away from Monne's mouth.

"Out with it, Monne! You've been quiet all day and... you know that I don't like it when you're all... like this! I don't mind if you leave, I mean, I would be upset with you for a long, long time, but the more that I'll think about it, I'll come to want to do it-"

"Yourself... I know, Tal. Okay, you want to know what I want?" Monne said, looking at her sister over the arm of her own chair now. 

"What, what?" Talava bounced a little in her chair and rested a curious face on her palm.

"I want freedom. Not this," she gestured to the rest of the small cottage, "And I want somewhere that I can truly practice what I want to, you know, my spells and whatnot. I love you, Talava, I really do, it's just..." Monne slumped back in her chair and stretched out her legs in front of her, looking into the amber flames to avoid Talava's sweet little face. "It's always, _always_ been my dream to leave Hammerfell and travel Tamriel, which you know, I've told you before."

Talava nodded and looked at Monne's cheek, reflecting the heat and glow of the fire. "Yes, you have, like, a lot. And- before you say anything, I just want you to say something to me." She awaited an answer, but Monne just looked to the mantelpiece. "...about how you want to grow up..?"

Monne laughed a little and lowered her head. "Yes... yes, I do. I want to see the world, all sights, disgusting and disturbing but also beautiful and terrific. I want to meet people that will understand me, someone who makes me feel truly happy." Talava grinned at her and grabbed the stew bowl that she had left by the fire to warm up. Gulping it down, she waited for Monne to keep going. "I want to know more, not only about our lady, Meridia, and of the many magic schools, but I also want to know more about me. Who I am."

"Oh yeah, now I remember. You swore that you would do just that the day you turned twelve. I didn't want to believe you, but... I guess..." Talava still looked up at Monne, who was still staring into the raging fire. 

Monne remembered the day that she did that. It was the day that she had finally started to master magelight. It was the day she saw her father come back from one of his long trips, just for her. She swore to her sister that one day she would grow up and go into the outside world and fight monsters and evil spirits.

And her sister said that she wanted to as well. 

As Monne looked into the blazing fire in the fireplace, she remembered the day. The day with the fire, the truly demonic fire that destroyed all the money and wealth they had and in turn changed their lives forever. It made them grow up together, but now came the day that somebody must do it alone.

"Swear something to me, Tal."

"What?"

She turned and kissed Talava on the forehead. "Never grow up."

**~~~**

**00:03 Fredas, 3rd Frostfall 200**

Monne laid awake in her straw bed, covered in furs. She hadn't slept for a few days anyway, just thinking of telling her sister about leaving was enough for her to never be able to shut her eyes. But now, she thought that she might get at least a few hours of sleep now that she's told Talava everything she needed to.

She guessed this time it wasn't nervousness keeping her up and energised. Maybe it was excitement, or maybe it was the thought of having to travel everywhere that she had ever heard about from her father-

Yes, it was excitement. But it was also something that told her she needed to stay for her sister. Monne imagined the things that would be going on around the house with her absence. They were all something to do with Talava hurting herself, or doing something that would get her in trouble with someone in the city, or a guard or even worse, the wildlife that settled just outside the farm. Even so, Talava wanted Monne to leave, not because she wanted her out, but because she only wanted the best for her. And if that was what Tal wanted, then Monne was definitely going to give it to her.

Talava would just have to promise Monne that she would do nothing but stay inside, or just go outside to run errands and pray to Meridia. 

Monne rolled over onto her side and stared at the wall separating the two sisters, and she knew that it was going to take a lot more than the whole of Tamriel to separate them both.

**~~~**

**09:02 Sundas, 5th Frostfall 200**

The sound of wheels rattling over the grassy fields and hills in the distance, reminded Monne of the sound of her father returning home. It made her slightly hopeful that it was him, even though she knew for sure that it was for her. She never thought she would hear that sound ever again, and even if she ever did, she thought it would make her heart leap for joy and make her give her family a hug. 

Not this. This pain in her heart that almost overrided the excitement of leaving for Valenwood, her first stop. Monne hugged her sister, knowing that she was feeling it too, from the dreadful look on her face, full of longing and heartache. Talava put her arm around her loving sister and buried her face into the crook of her neck, then squeezed her tight.

Monne closed her eyes. She couldn't imagine what Talava was feeling right now. She had not only lost her father unexpectedly, but also her mother, in ways that Monne did not know at all, and probably never will. 

And now she could be losing her sister forever. Her Monne. 

Despite all this, Talava looked up at her taller sibling and smiled a toothy grin as the cart rattled down towards them. "You... you come back, alright? I-I can-can't lose you too, Monne. Not after everything."

"Are you sure you want me to leave?" Saying this, Monne was already shoving her pack into the back of the cart and the horses were scuffing their feet against the dry, sandy grass. 

"Yes, yes. Please, go. Fulfill your... dream, or whatever. I'm really not good at goodbyes Mo-"

She was cut off by Monne wrapping her in a tight embrace, squeezing her tight, still chuckling. But the laughing was also covered by tears of her sister and of Monne's trembling lip. "Please, please be safe, Tal. I can't lose you either."

Still looking at the sister she would so dearly miss, she climbed onto the seat. It creaked under her weight, and the horses grunted when the reins were shifted by the driver. The hooves started to move forward and the the cart along with them, all while two sisters of the farm were waving their separate waves to each other. One, shifty, trembling and filled with sorrow, along with her eyes, filling up with salty tears. And the other, looked proudly on as her sister was carried away by a cart that she was well aquaitanced with. 

They looked onward for eachother, even after they were out of sight.

Monne waited for her sister to start running, running back for her, running so quickly to stop the carriage and put a finish to all this nonsense. But as her sister said, it wasn't nonsense. It was her dream, her ambition. And that was why Monne never saw her sister come sprinting back down that hill ever again.

She looked in front of her, to the rolling, sandy hills of Hammerfell. It was all she had ever known. 

She was going to know so much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated in so long!!! It's because of school, by the way (classic excuse ik ik) but I think I've gotten over my damn writer's block and I promise to update much more regularly!! (But then look at when this was posted haha)
> 
> Also, if you enjoyed this story so far, make sure to leave kudos to support me in my further chapters :))


	4. A New Type of Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monne has finally made her way through Tamriel, all the way from Valenwood, to Elsweyr, to Black Marsh and Cyrodiil. All seems quite tranquil until she hears of the happenings in Skyrim and makes one of the biggest actions in her life that would either turn out to be the best thing that could have ever happened or the greatest mistake she has ever made in her life...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly description of what Monne has seen so far in Tamriel btw, just in case you would rather not read that. It does matter to the story though, so if you can, please skim over it at least???  
> (My god there is a lot of lore to these games holy frick)

**17:12 Fredas 16th Last Seed 201 4E**

A branch brushed past Monne's shoulder as the wooden cart carried Monne sluggishly up the hills and away from Bruma. She breathed in a breath of the chilling air, wrapping the wolfskin coat around her even tighter. The snow was just about starting to fall, just a little, almost like little tufts of cotton. Feeling the chill of the snow brushing past her cheek and laying on her dark hair, she closed her eyes and smiled. This was unlike anything she had ever experienced in her home country.

While Monne was down in lower Tamriel, she had heard about the snowy, freezing cold landscapes of Skyrim, but the tranquility and the beauty of the snow was unlike anything she had ever heard of. The sun was red in the sky, tucked up in a bed of clouds, like a splat of blood against ice. While it setted, the sun cast the most beautiful, array of firy colours on the little piles of snow resting against the edge of the road. 

Usually, the colours would remind Monne of the day with the blazing fire, the destructing heat that blew away everything she had ever known, but this was so different. It was cold, but it wasn't a wet cold. This was the type of cold Monne would want to bathe in, especially after being in Hammerfell her whole life.

It was just so... different and unlike everything Monne had felt in all her days on Nirn.

**~~~**

Definitely unlike the swampy, wet air of Black Marsh that made her shiver from something other than the cold just thinking about it. It had definitely earned that name from what Monne had seen there. Although Monne had not seen even half of what the cities in Black Marsh looked like, she just wanted to get out of there and go somewhere much less... fetid. She had visited and rowed down the little, winding rivers that bordered the islands in the south, making the whole country look shattered, and the pure smell and feel of the air had made her mind up about going to Cyrodiil as soon as she could. 

There was something about it that was... charming however. Maybe it was the fact that it was so, so unlike Hammerfell, the complete opposite almost. Hammerfell was so dry and humid, and while Argonia was also fairly humid, it was a place that you could have thought had seen the most rain out of all the places on Nirn. 

Speaking of the rain in Black Marsh, it just made Monne scrunch up her nose in disgust at the memory of those brown, foul-smelling Hist's piss-like storms accompanied by thunder and lightning that Monne had only ever seen come from her own hands. While in Black Marsh learning of its history, Monne had gotten caught up in several of Argonia's infamous rainstorms that smelt, and tasted, like absolute waste. If Monne could describe it in one sentence alone, she would say that it was an inferno of foul-smelling yellow-brown god's piss that only fell down from the sky to torment you in your troubles. 

But the people in Argonia were probably the reason for her longer stay there. The argonians were nothing like anything she had imagined from her father's stories. I mean, he had told Monne about their stunning, colourful scales cascading down their bodies but the people were definitely the most different from any man or mer she had seen before. They often looked at Monne up and down, like a judging aunt, but she didn't mind, after all, they were like her superiors. The way they walked and talked was almost like a fucking awakening from Monne's ignorance. She wasn't surprised at all to find them living in such an environment, with them being so enigmatic and resourceful. 

**~~~**

Definitely unlike the sunkissed glades and tropical rainforests of Valenwood, the first place Monne had ever gone outside her home country. The minute that the cart had rolled its way into the north of Valenwood, Monne just knew that this was it, she was most definitely not going back anytime soon.

It was a gradual change, going from Hammerfell, into a little bit of Cyrodiil and then into this ever so new and unfamiliar country, but as soon as she had breathed in the sweet smell of radiant springs and fresh leaves, she knew that this was oh so different and yet oh so amazing. As well as the warm rays of evening sun touching her back, she felt something spark a flame in her chest. Something new and good. 

However, the fact that Valenwood was a part of the Aldmeri Dominion, was something Monne didn't quite approve of. Although she quite liked the Bosmer, this was something that she had to ignore, after all, her country did fight in a ten year long war against their allies and it would be treachury if she sided with them. She had only started to hear about the dominion 'cleansing' Valenwood after she had arrived, which she was not at all surprised at. 

Monne didn't really mind though, unlike her sister, who had a great disdain for the empire and the Aldmeri Dominion, saying that if she saw any of "those pompous, pretentious elves", she would "start a ten year grudge with them and see how they like that". Monne was never one for too much conflict, but her sister surely was. And in this moment, all Monne really cared about was visiting the greatly acclaimed mangrove swamps and forested wilderness that she had heard about on the ride there.

While rolling through the plains of Cyrodiil towards the north of Valenwood, her driver had finally struck conversation about it. "You're going to Valenwood, then eh?"

Monne nodded, looking around her at sights she hadn't seen before, not really paying attention. The she finally realised that the driver couldn't actually _see_ her so she replied with a timid agreement. 

"Oh, it is great in the spring, you know. They all say it's the 'Garden of Tamriel', actually. I definitely agree," the driver said enthusiastically. 

Monne didn't quite know what he had meant by that, but when she arrived, she knew, she absolutely knew what he meant. Everything, and I mean everything, struck her by surprise, all the foliage and the flora that was so contrasting to her childhood in dusty, rocky, dry Hammerfell; she didn't miss it. I mean, except when it rained and all Monne wanted to do was to just sit in a small inn and watch the droplets of rain lie silently on a scarlet flower.

All Monne could describe it as was that it was a sea of endless green, a maze of vibrant foliage with half-hidden cities growing in between them like the blooms of a flower. And as she walked down the slightly undeveloped foot trails that connected the clan houses along the coast, she couldn't believe how tall and rich with colour these flowers were. The Falinesti trees were also something to gawk at, being so tall that Monne had to _really_ crane her neck upwards to see the sun hiding behind it.

Monne went everywhere.

In the southeast where she saw dense and humid jungles that she had only heard of from her father or seen in children's books where the amount of Grahtoaks were a plenty.

In the southwest where she walked the bright green plains along the trickling, luscious rivers that she couldn't help but sit down by and dip her feet into the cool blue and close her eyes in satisfaction.

In the northeast where Monne strode near the Stird river on the border of Cyrodiil, luckily shaded from the sun beating down on her bronze skin by the many, many trees covering the skies. 

And in the northwest, where it had definitely earned its name, Reaper's March, with the history of bloody warfare that Monne had learned about while being there. It was dry and savannah like, making Monne's heart feel a little longing for her home country as it reminded her of the dusty rocks and the sandy grass there. Monne was not ready to go back to her home despite all of this, because she knew that this was something her father had done, and she was going to follow in his footsteps and make him smile down on her, wherever he was.

**~~~**

While Monne was travelling her way out of Valenwood and into Elsweyr, she tried to not focus on the past but the present, and how she was just about to ride into the place that reminded Monne the most of her home country. It had jungles and deserts like Hammerfell, and yet they were so different, much less humid and sunny, and they could be much better interpreted as badlands, in Monne's eyes. 

Since this was not so much of a great start, Monne read books as she travelled the imperial roads about their religion. She had never known that the Khajiit were so... _obssessed_ with the moons before. She glanced up at them then, and smiled a toothy grin as she saw the Khajiit walking around her cart doing the same, like they were admiring their masters. 

Something that Monne admired about the Khajjit, and also fascinated her, was that instead of using conventional methods to kill their enemies, like with a dagger or magic or something, they used their claws. Which kind of made sense after she thought about it and talked to a wise looking Khajiit in one of the cities, who said,

"Why waste our time on things so ordinary and typical when Khajiit already have something so much more extraordinary and brilliant?" 

Monne sighed and thought about how much she wanted to be like them. To be able to say those words with such an ease that she thought they had practiced it beforehand and to be able to sink into the shadows without leaving so much as a piece of fur behind was something that she did not only envy, but applaud. 

However, Monne did not applaud the fact that the Khajjit were so easily swayed by the influence of the _moons_ , for her lady's sake, and the utter snobbness and snootiness of the Thalmor who had dragged them onto their side by grabbing their attention when they 'brought the moons back' for them. I mean, to take advantage of someone's religion like that was unthinkable. When Monne had first heard of this while chatting idly with a Khajiit who maintained a stall, she was wholly disgusted by what she had heard. If she hadn't known better than stand up in front of everyone that day and tell them the truth then, she would have if she could have.

Another thing that Monne didn't understand was the all the hype up about the Moon Sugar that the Khajiit were totally hooked on, obsessed with even. She had even tried a little while she was down in Pelletine, the southern nation of Elsweyr, which was filled with jungles and rainforests, similar to those of Valenwood. While trying the stuff, she had felt a surge of sweetness and colours coming forward into her brain from, what she felt like, oblivion or something. They were sometimes images of her memories on the farm and the cellar, which she didn't like to be reminded of mind you, but most of the experience was taken up by swirling colours and flashy patterns. But afterwards, she didn't feel another feeling of it, and decidedly wouldn't have any more after that.

After visiting Pelletine, Monne travelled up north to somewhere seemingly like her old home country. It had the warm sands, that's for sure, as they burned under Monne's feet. But she was used to it, and the Khajiit had clearly seen that as she stood barefoot on the sand while talking to some of them about Hammerfell, chatting about the smell of the dry desert, but it will never be the same. 

**~~~**

Upon arriving in Cyrodiil, Monne instantly sensed the difference of it from Black Marsh, from visiting Argonia just prior. Even the air made it feel like it was a wealthy and powerful nation, and if she didn't already know about its empire, then she would sense it from the air and the imperial natives alone. Although she had her prejudices, Monne still set out to learn of these imperials' culture. 

While in the west and visiting the city of Anvil, Monne saw that the western Cyrodiilians had a much less complicated outlook than she had thought and were more self-reliant and independent. Just looking at and hearing the voices of these people reminded Monne of her father, sensing a twang in her chest, clear as day.

She remedied this by distracting herself with wandering the city and strolling into shops and stalls to buy restoration spells. The Anvil mages there had a slight air about them that Monne wanted to breathe in forever, and she just wanted to be around the female ones all the time; even feeling quite attracted to them after seeing one cast a ward perfectly for her. 

The Nibeneans still looked the same as the Colovians, with a very imperial face and voice, but they were extremely different from the Colovians as well, Monne had learnt. They were much more concerned with the aesthetic and spiritual pursuits of life. Monne had heard of the Nibenese lords and the silks that they wore, apparently often in many colours and patterns. Supposedly, this was to show off the exotic dyes that they had access to from their lands. Even the commoners gave themselves plenty of color, wearing necklaces and wristlets of beads and feathers and shells, and wearing sashes of brightly colored silk. On top of this is were their tatoos, which were worn for everything from religion to social standing. Monne looked, fascinated, at one woman who looked like she had been pricked with a needle one-too-many times. 

Monne didn't quite care for the Colovian and Nibenean disputes however, and much cared more for their cities. Although, Monne did not visit or even take a second glance at the Imperial City. She had heard much about the empire, and she did not want to mix herself up in that stupid mess. Instead, she travelled happily to Bravil in the south, which was on a small peninsula at the mouth of the Larsius River as it emptied into Niben Bay.

Monne unfortunatley found that this was definitely the least well-off city of all the ones she had visited. Monne honestly thought that Bravil was the dark grate of the sewer drain where foul and unappetising debris collects. It was the poorest and dirtiest of them all, the oldest and shabbiest, the most plagued by criminals, drunkards, and skooma-eaters, and most popular with beastfolk and other foreigners, and these sights were all over the place. Monne mostly had to shift away from shady folk and decidedly the best thing to do was to leave that town as soon as possible. Escpecially after reading something about the dark brotherhood and the night mother in a history book about the city. 

Before going way up north, Monne just _had_ to visit the shrine of Meridia near Skingrad in the southwest of Cyrodiil. It was the first ever proper shrine of Meridia that Monne had really visited in her whole life, and she was truly ecstatic. As she wandered up the grassy plains, which were absolutely bursting with colour in the summertime, she saw it on the horizon and instantly, she felt whole again. As she was in Cyrodiil, she had heard a little about the champion of Cyrodiil that had been awarded the Ring of Khajiiti for their efforts. Flipping through pages and pages of history books about daedra, she finally had found a good text on it. She had read it over and over again as she travelled on the carts, making her ignore the driver when he told her to get off. Maybe one day _she_ could do something like that, but the possibilities were of course slim.

Thinking of her lady was something that had really kept Monne going through the past year, a distraction from the thought of her sister, dead in a valley somewhere, unprotected by her sister. And as she reached the steps of the temple and brushed a hand against the stone walls, she saw the huge statue of her lady and ran forward, ready to pray properly. She made sure to say it loudly in case her lady was watching her from oblivion. 

"In your holy name, oh Meridia,

we pray for life itself.

For what greater gift is there

than simply living?

Walk ever in the light, for it will guide us.

Walk never in the dark, for it will blind us.

Hear us, Lady of Infinite Energies,

for you are the guiding star in a dark sea of troubles."

Monne stayed for a while, at the shrine and in the city, not wanting to leave in case it all was gone the next day, but eventually, she walked out, not looking back in case it was just too painful and set off to the next and last city on her list: Bruma.

The city and the area around Bruma was the coldest and yet the most enchanting thing Monne had ever experienced. She knew it was near Skyrim and Monne also knew that that place was the snowiest province of them all, so she wasn't at all surprised when she slipped on ice the first time walking into the city. It was humiliating, but when she looked up and saw the Jerall mountains in the far distance, all of that disappated in a cloud of steam. Every tree and roof and wall was encrusted with frost that glittered like diamonds in the sun. She walked up to the windowsill of one house, that looked fairly large, and stared at the beguiling sight in front of her. 

"Wonderful day isn't it? This weather is just, so amazing when the sun finally comes out," Someone said behind her, in a gruff, quite nordic accent. Monne turned around slowly and looked to the skies in awe and then at the sun peaking through the clouds on a late afternoon. Not wanting to imagine anything less than this, she said back,

"Well, actually, good sir, I don't usually visit parts around here. You see, I'm from the more... you know, desert-y places in Tamriel." The imperial man looked her up and down and then nodded, seeing that she was not from these sorts of places.

"Ah, I see. Well, it sure is better than Skyrim, right? I mean sure, that place has more snow and ice but with the civil war and all-" he was cut off by a frowning Monne who stepped back in a little horror.

She had never heard of any type of civil war until now. Why had no one else mentioned it? Maybe they had and Monne was just too caught up in the stunning scenery that she hadn't bothered to listen. Instantly jumping to conclusions, she said, "And it's between the the empire and the..." She felt a bit mean saying these sorts of assuming words to an actual imperial, but whatever, she didn't care for that when she could be getting gossip that could be discussed over a mug of colovian brandy. 

"I think it's the... well, I have never been one to meddle in another province's affairs, but...ah, yes! They're called the uh... Stormcloaks or something," he said, laughing a little. "It's all quite ridiculous, right?"

Monne narrowed her eyes and turned her body in the other direction, just about speaking to him before wandering to the nearest tavern, "Yeah, sure."

**~~~**

Monne stopped the carriage by patting the driver on the back as some sort of thankyou after the gates opened and they wandered in. She was in a whole other country now, and it felt so different to the others. Much, much colder and harsher, as she saw the snow swirling about more quickly up ahead than where she was standing. 

Clambering off the cart, she stepped onto the ice glazed imperial road below her feet. Instantly, the horse was ordered to turn back around and into Cyrodiil, Monne gazing back at them as the gates closed. She watched the guards' faces, seemingly unfazed at her arrival, and one even seemed to be dozing off. Some guards they were. She turned away from the imperial banners, flapping crazily in the wind and started to stroll down the path, soon realising she needed to pull her cloak tightly around her again. This wind was the chilliest thing that she had ever experienced, and she was slowly growing to see what people meant when they complained about it. 

After walking, or stumbling is the actually the best way to put it, through what seemed like the worst of the wind for about ten minutes, it finally seemed to be dying down. The swirling had stopped in her ears and surely enough, she could feel her toes melt from the ice that had seemingly grown on them. The snow was truly impairing Monne's vision and now she could actually see again, and was that... sun? Peaking through the clouds? It was setting, though, and the colours of fire were all Monne could see in the sky which meant it wasn't going to be cold for much longer...

No, it was going to be freezing. 

Monne needed to find a town or village somewhere near here, or else she'll freeze her ass off tonight in a lowly tent. Quickly, she plucked the map that she had been using this past year out of her rucksack and she unrolled it. She noticed her hands were trembling and stiff with the cold, but she could barely feel it, being so numb that it actually started to feel kind of warm. She looked to where she must be and... no way. The nearest city that Monne had been able to record was seemingly miles to the west. She shook her head, knocking some snow off as she did so. 

All she needed was to find... somebody that could tell her where she needed to go. Looking around, she thought she saw what seemed like a small crowd of people in the distance, behind some trees. They were crouching and some of them even had their blades at the ready. Monne scrunched up her nose at the thought of talking to lots of people at once, and looked back to her left. Hoping to see someone there appearing in a puff of smoke, she looked and saw just another hill.

Monne grunted and realised she had no other options. Trudging over to the crowd, she could then see what they were wearing. It was a dark cyan colour, covered in fur and and some even had wolfskin on them. Now she was intrigued, even though normal people would be scared away by this, all Monne wanted was somewhere she could go. She strolled up to them, peering around the trees awkwardly as they started to notice her. They all clearly seemed to look like Nords except maybe one Breton, but Monne felt out of place, like a pea that had found its way onto a sweetroll.

Suddenly, they all started to move forward, and desperately, Monne followed them, dumbstruck by the cold. Hands clasped in front of her stomach to keep them warm, she opened her mouth to speak a word, but that's when she got cut off by a huge bellow of a shout and swords clashing. The colours of red and blue were a whirlwind to her now, and she had only just managed to turn around and see the imperial knock her clean onto the ground. Monne ignored the confusion clouding her mind and the ice keeping her face as cold as the look that imperial gave her, and focused on staying awake.

But that only lasted a second before her vision went dark and her consciousness drifted away.


	5. Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monne has officially screwed up, gotten herself in cuffs and been mistaken for a stormcloak now on the way to her death. I'm sure you know what happens next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you guys know, this is a canon rewrite, so not all of the canon dialogue will be in this story. It's either because it fits better with Monne's character, or I just don't like the canon dialogue anyway. But there will still be quite a lot of it don't worry ;)))

**9:30 Sundas 17th Frostfall 4E201**

**~~~**

The air is so warm now. Well, compared to that of yesterday. Monne could almost feel the sun's warmth on her cheeks now, but maybe that's because it's morning at last? Did she fall asleep again? She hadn't been doing enough sleeping lately because of the schedules of the horse carts, and now it's time to make up for it, she guessed. 

But what's this? This isn't the comforting slouch of a pillow behind her head, or the gentle touch of a cloth duvet and it's nowhere near the feeling of a soft, straw mattress on her back. In fact, her back actually ached quite a bit. Actually, the more she thought about it, her neck ached as it tilted downwards and her legs ached and so did her ass, to be quite frank. 

Then a sun beam must've passed through a gap in the trees because it shone on Monne's eyelids, making them sting. She groggily opened them and found she was looking downwards at her hands. They were together, in a criss-cross and she was not in her blue, travelling mage's robes anymore. Instead, she felt her skin itch from the rough, sandbag-like material that her current clothes were made out of. Oh dear gods. She was cuffed. 

As soon as her vision became clearer, so did her hearing. 

"Hey!" She jumped at the noise and quickly, and painfully, opened her eyes to the max. Her vision was almost covered by the light peering through the crowd of trees on the other side of the cart.

_Wait. A cart again? A FREAKING CART-_

"You're finally awake." She tilted her head to the right and saw a nordic man, seemingly in the same sorts of clothes she was wearing. Forcefully, Monne lashed her head to her right as well, to take a good look at her surroundings. They were rolling down a road, and other carts came into Monne's waking vision, carrying some soldiers in blue armour. The man who led the cart she was on look nothing like any of the ones sitting with her, so that _can't_ be a good sign. A legionnare. He must be. Which meant these guys were... stormcloaks, what else?

There were two other men on the cart, other than the man who woke her, and she could sort of recognize one of them from last night. In the clearing, where she had been attacked. And the other was also bound, but he was gagged too, so at least that was another person she wouldn't have to talk to. 

The man who was wearing the same clothes she wore spoke again, "Guards sure worked you over."

Monne cleared her throat and fluttered her eyelids to wake them up a little more. "Well, gods yes, one of them full on bodyslammed me to oblivion." A bit of an overstatement but no biggie. Monne _was_ on a cart to somewhere she had no idea, so she had at least some justification. "And now they've gone and stuffed me in a cart with _real_ stormcloaks." She sighed, exasperated and her eyelids were drooping slightly from the sudden wake up.

She thought about the whole situation for a moment, sitting still and staring straight down. Surely such a thing as getting captured would not happen to her, just a poor, lowly farm-girl not from Skyrim at all. But she hadn't really thought about herself like that since earlier on in her travelling days.

_Those days would be over soon._ At this thought, Monne shifted her hands in panic and looked around the cart at the stormcloak men, wide-eyed.

"I'm just not a damn stormcloak," she said under her breath, more to herself than anyone else, even though she wanted so badly to shout it from the mountains that she just wasn't involved with _any_ of this utter nonsense. Finally, the larger stormcloak with long blonde hair and a beard spoke up,

"I tried to tell those imperial dogs you weren't with us," he said, which earned a surprised grin from Monne.

"Thanks," she said sarcastically, feeling like she was being way more non-chalant about the whole thing on the outside, while in her mind she was screaming.

"Like that thief over there," the stormcloak tilted his head in the direction of the man who spoke to Monne first, and instantly, she felt a surge of involvement and relief about this whole thing. But don't get me wrong, she was still shouting at herself inside.

"So you're a non-stormcloak too?" Monne expected some kind of response, but all she got from the brunette was a slight snarl as he tilted his head away from her. Her tone must've been quite loud or it would not have provoked the dumb-ass guard in front.

"Shut up back there!" He didn't even bother to look at them.

Monne frowned and leaned against the back rest of the cart, " _You_ shut up," she then mumbled, "Eavesdropping bastard..." Hoping to get someone else's response, she looked around and got nothing. All she wanted was for this icy, fearful silence to stop clouding the men on the cart. _Somebody just fucking talk. Please._

They stumbled around on the road for a few more seconds, which felt like hours to Monne, until at last, the thief to her right squinted his eyes at the gagged man in the grey robes. "Wait! Who's that gagged feller' in the cart, he looks familiar..." Monne didn't bother to look, since she had no idea herself.

"You and your ignorance! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the _true_ high king!" The blonde guy snapped, leaving Monne wide eyed and slightly open-mouthed. Ulfric was the leader of the rebellion, the stormcloaks. While she did not know much about Skyrim's politics or their way of dealing with rebels, Monne _did_ know that this wasn't going to end with her tucked up in bed with a happy, bellyfull of brandy. 

Looking anxiously down the path where they were headed, Monne fought back the urge to jump straight off of this cart and book it back to her warm, cozy farmhouse, where she could be safe, and in the arms of her sister. Gods, did she miss Tal. It was only in that very moment did she realise it, after having many adventures in happy places where she wasn't stuffed on a cart, travelling to a place where she could probably meet her end. She imagined the look on Tal's face when she reads the letter of inheritence, all screwed up with her bottom-lip poking out, and Monne fought the tears pricking her eyelashes. 

She jumped when the thief started to shout heavily at Ulfric himself, like he was a misbehaving hound. "That's the man? The leader of the rebellion? Who used the voice to murder high king Torygg?" His voice crescendoing at every statement, he leaned in closer to Ulfric. Monne had no idea what was going on. "Hey! You, Ulfric! You traitor! You're the reason we're here! The reason we're going to-"

Monne tried to distance herself from the situation by looking down the path again, but the information was already being thrown at her, or, as a better way to put it, it was thrown at the General.

"General Tullius sir! The headsman is waiting!"

_Wait a second. Wait a_ damn _second. Headsman?_ The voice in Monne's brain was timid and afraid, and she almost slapped herself for it, but then realised that her timidness was surely justified. She was going to die. It was official.

Breath quickening, Monne leaned back in her chair, pupils dialating rapidly. 

"Good. Let's get this over with." The familiarity of an imperial voice brought her back to her peaceful, tranquil times in Cyrodiil, and the memories of herself just watching the waves flow in and out from the Niben Bay. The waves' speed almost linked up to the speed of her heart rate at that time. But now, her heart was beating like a jackhammer. She squeezed her eyes shut and quickly said a prayer to Meridia, after all, what else could she do but pray to her lady, in the hopes that she might live to see the next morning, or at least this evening. 

Opening one eye at a time, Monne wished that the men sitting by her weren't looking at her, but when she opened them and found that they weren't, she felt sorrow instead of relief. She had at least hoped that these men would stand by her as they got their head chopped off. At the thought, Monne brought her hands up to her neck, almost like she was protecting it from the future. _Oh, no. I really like my head._

She scrunched her mouth the side, and looked to her left where the gates to a large village were being opened. The horses strode in, carrying someone who looked like an important figure, assumuably the General. There was a long line of houses that surrounded the road which was curving round a stone fort placed in the middle of the settlement.

People were seemingly coming out from their safe, cozy houses to gawk at the soldiers riding inside. Monne scowled at them, not only for their blatant morbid curiosity, but for her envy of their wooden, finely built homes that looked like something Monne desperately needed right about now. 

It seemed the largely built stormcloak also had the same idea to snarl insults as well. "General Tullius the 'military govenor'," he sharply exclaimed, glaring at Tullius as he rode over to a Thalmor ambassador woman on the right of the fork in the road. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with them. Gods damn them elves. Bet they had something to do with this." He looked as though that if those elves were nearer, he would spit right in their faces.

Monne suddenly perked up at the sound of another person's voice and decided to talk sweetly at the side of this man's head, "Looook... I know I was going on about how I wasn't a stormcloak a moment ago, silly me, but if you guys have an escape plan..." she awaited a response, "I want in." She could feel the thief's energy behind her, and could almost sense the moment when he rolled his eyes. The man in front of her still looked around at the village they were starting to gain even closer entry to. While passing the General approaching the ambassador, she could hear them conversing between one another, the deep lilt of the imperial accent and the snobbiness of the Thalmor's. Monne scrunched her nose at her.

"Tullius stop! By the authority of the Aldmeri Dominion, I'm taking custody of these prisoners." Monne wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or truly troubled by her stern remark.

"I'm sorry, that's just not possible. It would cause far too many problems," Tullius seemed to be standing his ground, even if his voice wavered a little.

She snapped at him, "You're making a big mistake. Your emperor will hear of this; by the terms of the white-gold Concordat, I operate with full imperial authority!"

The blonde man seemed to follow Monne's gaze and barked at low laugh, though he didn't smile even a little. "Ha. Thalmor bitch."

Squinting her eyes, Monne pushed the question, "I can't belive you guys don't have an escape plan." _Some 'rebels'._ He seemed to completely gloss over the remark as he cocked his head around at the settlement, seeming a bit sentimental. She widened her eyes at his sudden dismissal, hopefully showing the pure terror in her eyes.

"This is Helgen." So this was where Monne was going to die then. A stupid, nordic settlement, and her execution wasn't even justified at all, at least in her eyes. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here."

"Could she help us escape-"

"I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead," _Mead?_ Monne ears seemed to prick up at the sound of it, and the thought of it filling her mouth made her feel at home again, but only for a moment. "with juniper berries mixed in." _Juniper berries?_ Her mouth watered at the thought of berries mixed into one of her favourite drinks in Tamriel, and she could just about hear it calling out to her. Almost reaching out to grab it from her mind, she was jolted back to reality when she heard a kid behind her speak up in his light-hearted tone,

"Who are they daddy? Where are they going?" _Huh. Oh, you don't wanna know._

"You need to go inside little cub."

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers." Monne almost wanted the kid to see his newfound interests' head rolling into a basket, so that he could be shown the pure brutality of this whole ordeal. Fists clenched, Monne looked back down at her cuffed hands. She would use her magic right that second if she could.

"You need to go inside. Now."

"Yes, papa." Confused and frustrated, Monne heard the patter of the kid's footsteps as he wandered back inside the house, shielded from the truth.

It was when the carts had started to slow down in a courtyard with the fort towering near them when Monne realised she just had to do something. Something to stop all of this and run away. Run all the way back home, and run into her sister's-

She was going to cry again if she wasn't careful.

The shouting of the imperial captain's voice towered over them like the fort, and made Monne cowardly shake in anticipation. "Get these prisoners out of the carts. Move it!" She flinched at the word 'prisoner' as if it was like she was some sort of cattle that needed to be herded into corner. Unwanted. Unneeded. An outcast.

A _freak._ Like her mother had always said to her.

"Why- why are we, uh, stopping?" The thief stammered, voice high pitched like a little girl.

The blonde man's voice was solemn and almost like he had given up all hope that he was going to get out of here. Monne felt for him. "Why do you think? End of the line."

Monne tried to lighten the mood by emitting one of her genuine, witty comments, "I think I'm about to hit my head pretty hard." The nords had no energy to roll thir eyes this time around however, and only started to clamber out of the carts. Monne, defeated, pulled herself up on her aching legs and slowly followed the guys in front of her off the cart and onto the ground, where the imperial captain stood beside another nord, wearing red. She would have smirked at his appearance if she was at all interested in guys, or if she had the spirit to do so.

"No, wait! We're not rebels!" shouted the thief, even though he was still clambering off the cart as he said this. Monne heard no response from the imperials. 

_Okay, new plan. Make a run for it when they're distracted._ Monne tried not to look suspicious, though it was not difficult to see the look of apprehension in her eyes. She didn't even bother to listen to the other prisioners when they bickered at each other.

"You've got to tell them we weren't with you, okay?! This is all just a huge mistake!" Monne glanced over for only a second, but it was enough to catch pure horror and fury in the thief's eyes. 

"Face your death with some courage, thief." Monne noticed that the blonde guy was trying to stand up straighter than any normal man would, and his jaw was tight, he was clearly grinding his teeth under there. 

The imperial woman set them so they were standing straight upright again. "Shut up. Out of the cart now." The thief looked at the houses as if crying out for help, and then pushed his gaze along the road opposite the courtyard. That would be a perfect place to run, Monne guessed. 

There was a deathly silence, fitted for the occasion, until Monne was the last one to set her feet on the muddy stone floor and the captain piped up again. "Step towards the block when we call your name," she instructed, moving her eyes over the soldiers. "One at a time."

"Empire loves their damn lists," the blonde man grumbled, nudging Monne back to reality. She looked over to the other side of the courtyard, near to the fort in the middle, and there stood a priestess of some sort wearing yellow robes, and then her gaze fell onto her own death. A hooded figure stood there, carrying the largest, and sharpest axe she had ever laid eyes upon. She shuddered at the image of that thing slicing through her neck.

"Don't even _think_ about running," the captain spoke again, making Monne smirk a little. _Oh, I'm not just going to think about it. As soon as you look away..._ Monne waited for the woman to tilt her glare away from her eyes but the eye contact held like a leather belt. It was Monne who broke the stare-off. _Okay, she's scary._

The male imperial soldier beside the captain, brought the clipboard up to read the list. He had a thick, nordic accent, which made Monne flinch a little as she thought that all nords were expected to join the stormcloaks, but it seemed that wasn't the case at all. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm. Guilty of murder and high treason. Sentenced to death."

"It has been an honour, Jarl Ulfric." Monne wondered if the blonde man was just going to salute at that moment if his hands weren't gagged. _Wonder if they're lovers..._ She exhaled in a little bit of a bittersweet laugh.

The imperial wrote down something on the clipboard with a quill and looked back up to the three 'traitors'. "Next in line," he sighed, and Monne wondered if he really wanted to do this. "Name?" Then the blonde man stepped forward.

"Ralof, proud son of Skyrim," he said defiantly, as he walked over to the rest of the prisoners who were making a curving line around the area of, oh you know, their deaths. 

"Stormcloak, sentenced to death," the imperial mumbled as he scribbled more down on the clipboard. "Next in line, name?" That was when the thief stepped forward at once. 

"Lokir, and I'm _not_ a stormcloak."

"It says right here that you are. Sorry." He pointed to the middle of the board. Lokir shook his head in total panic and looked to the road on their left, repeatedly. He looked concerned and Monne felt a huge line of tension that couldn't be cut with a knife between them. This would be the perfect time to get out of there. _Okay, I'm gonna make a run for it in 5..._

_4..._

_3..._ she looked to the thief, _2..._ he started to sprint forward, past the guards and onto the road that Monne was laying her eyes on. 

"Please! All I did was steal a horse!" he screamed, as the stormcloaks merely watched him over their shoulders, a little unfazed by it all. 

_Damned criminal stole my idea!_ Monne mentally cursed him, and felt a pit of dread in her stomach as she imagined what her plan B was, if there even was one at all.

The imperial captain's shouts filled the courtyard, telling the archers to shoot their arrows, and Monne watched helplessly as they drew their bows and released them in synchronisation.

"Please, you can't do this!" he said, the desperation in his voice clear as day, but it was no use.

The arrows spiralled through the air, whistling like the wind, and fell upon Lokir's back, and shoulder. He spun to the ground, crying out in pain, and looked like he lasted a second longer before he slipped into unconsciousness. A cowardly death. One that Monne would have gotten if Lokir hadn't have gone and done such a deed. She gulped roughly as the imperial captain turned sharply back towards her.

"Anyone else feel like running?" 

"Nope no definitely not," Monne said rapidly, looking at them both with a pout.

"Good."

"Next in line, name?" Monne stepped up towards him and felt the shame as she stammered at him in desperation, like she was trying to calm down a fight.

"Look, there's been a bit of a misunderstanding here. Whatever those guards told you is a lie. Unless it was a fact about my stunningly good looks," she flashed a grin at them, and if she could do finger guns, she would have. They just stood there, either with a porcelain expression or their brows tightened together. One of them even grunted, but Monne couldn't tell if it was from the man, the woman, or both of them. Either way, her plan to make them laugh wasn't going well.

"Name?" he said with clenched teeth.

Her future wasn't looking good. In a last hope of staying safe and alive, Monne opted to just keep quiet and maybe, just maybe, there would be a slight chance of them ignoring her and getting on with the event.

As soon as about three seconds passed, she felt eyes from around the courtyard pass over her in annoyment, some were even shaking their heads at her. The only sounds that broke the silence were the tweeting of the birds, that let her imagine she was just back on the farm, or strolling through the forests of Valenwood, but no. This was real. This was really happening and Monne just had to get it over with, or dragging this on would only make people want to kill her more. "You're pushing your luck," said the captain, and that was when she knew this was over.

Slumping her shoulders in defeat, she shamefully stammered, "Mo-Monne, uh my name is Monne." She looked down at her feet and didn't feel like crying anymore, instead she felt a wave of numbness rush over her, like her brain was protecting her from the images of her childhood. The feats and challenges that magic had shown to her, they were all for nothing. Just some meaningless things that led up to her death.

The soldier looked over the list multiple times, and furrowed his brow. "What should we do captain? She's not on the list," he mumbled, making Monne tilt her head upwards, looking for that last glimmer of hope. 

But all her hopes were shattered when the captain merely grunted, "Forget the list. She goes to the block." Monne narrowed her eyes at her, making a mental note to haunt the hell out of her when she dies. At least she would be going to oblivion, to serve Meridia for eternity. But even that thought made Monne shiver. She focused her attention on the damned captain again. _No wonder she can talk with that stick up her ass._

"By your orders captain," he turned to Monne with a sympathetic tilt of his eyebrows, but said nothing. _Do you always blindly follow her orders?_ The captain started walking to where everyone else was, and motioned sharply for Monne to follow on. Slowly turning to face her death, Monne stepped shamefully behind the captain; she felt like a dog, obliviously padding beside her, unable to disobey. But she sniggered anyway. _Looks like she's got a stick up her ass._

As she walked up to the middle, she saw the two men at the front, Ulfric and Tullius, looking like they were about to have huge face-off. Yet another star of hope shone in front of Monne, and suddenly her spirits perked up. _Lokir was as subtle as a horker, but if I just timed it right, maybe I could slip away._ She imagined what it would be like, and gazed around the sheer size of the place. It looked almost impossible to quietly slip away without provoking one of the many, many imperial soldiers bordering the area and getting her neck sliced. _Gods, I lose my head either way?_ _I've hit a real low._ Not as low as when she was going insane in a basement, but that wasn't on her mind at that moment.

After all, General Tullius had started to speak up. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use the power of his voice to murder the high king and usurp his throne." Monne was starting to get curious about this 'voice' they were talking about. Were they talking about a debate, or just some stupid shouting battle where the decibal was so high, Torygg got sliced in half? Monne grunted with laughter at the image, hoping nobody had heard her. 

Ulfric grunted through his gag.

"You started this war! Plunged Skyrim into chaos! And now the empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!" He walked away, looking pretty smug for himself, and stood by an imperial flag, flapping away in the breeze. 

A large noise sounded over the snowy mountains beyond the settlement that Monne could only describe as something that could have actually woken her up in morning, and that was saying something. _Woah, what was that? Sounds like Talava when she's snoring._ If it wasn't from the skies, Monne would have assumed it was her stomach. She glanced to the soldiers, who were also staring to the skies where it had come from, looking rather apprehensive.

"What the hell was that?" The captain asked, looking to Tullius.

He sighed. "It was nothing, carry on." Monne slumped her shoulders back into position. So not even a strange, mystical noise from above was going to stop them, then. That meant no hopes for them not noticing her slip away. _Damn, that would have been the perfect time to-_

"Yes, General Tullius." The captain saluted, and turned strongly to the priestess. "Give them their last rites," she ordered, standing next to her. 

The priestess held up her arms, outstretched to the clouds above. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the eight divines upon you..." Monne rolled her eyes as she listened dumbly to the stupid, pointless and monotone utterings of this priestess. She was going to oblivion anyways. At least, she hoped. Maybe there was a possibility she would not, and the thought of going anywhere else but oblivion made Monne want to-

"For the love of Talos, shut up, and let's get this over with," grunted a frustrated red-headed stormcloak, who was now strolling over to the block, like it was nothing. Like getting executed was just part of his daily routine. If only Monne had the courage of the nords. 

"As you wish," the priestess said, almost like she was glad to stop doing that aimless speech. 

"Come on, I haven't got all morning." The stormcloak was knealt down forcefully by the captain, and laid his head on the block so that he was looking to his left at the headsman, who was just standing there. Monne just wanted this to be over with now. She had little of that star of hope left in her mind anymore, and it was starting to dim. The captain kept her foot clutched to the back of the soldier, in case he tried to make a last minute get away. "My ancestors are smiling at me, imperials. Can you say the same?"

It was while these words were spoken that the headsman finally acted on his chore. Swinging the axe high up into the air, he swiftly brought it down in one clean motion, slicing though the soldiers neck as if it were butter. The head agonisingly rolled into the crate below the block, while Monne stared in shock, imagining that to be her own head in that crate soon.

"You imperial bastards!"

"Justice!"

"Death to the stormcloaks!" 

Monne tried to tune out those shouts and cheers from the civilians and focused on her own breathing, even as she watched the dead soldier's headless body roll to the ground.

Then the blonde man from the cart spoke so quietly to the dead soldier, mourning his death to himself only. "As fearless in death, as he was in life." Monne bit her lip as she looked over at him, still with that glimmer of hope that he had an escape plan.

"Next the Redguard!" The captain pointed a pale finger at Monne, who was now looking slightly at the blood spurting from the body on the floor. She felt her legs slowly walk her forwards, and unsurprisingly, they felt like they were going to crumble from underneath her at any given second. Looking to her left, she felt just so, so unlike anything she had felt in her life. So angry, and afraid and panicked. _I mean, they have Ulfric right there!_

The groan from the skies sounded again, this time louder than before. Her star of hope was still there. The echoes faded out as she didn't even bother looking to the other imperial soldiers, but still wished they would be a little less stubborn this time.

"There it is again, did you not hear that?" The imperial soldier from before said, looking to his captain curiously. Monne nodded along with him, stopping in the middle of the courtyard.

"I said. Next. Prisoner." 

"To the block prisoner, nice and easy. Sorry you got caught up in this mess." Monne's star of hope that had been welling up in her chest was suddenly snuffed out completely. You would have thought her legs were glued to the floor, but after the captain started to guide her to the block, she felt compelled to obey her silent order. But still, she could not stop herself from crying out,

"Loo-look I-I know that some people may call me a provincial, but they're just close-minded -- travelling is benefi- benficial for everyone!" She felt the cold, hard weight of that captain's dreaded boot on her spine, pushing her downward so her head pounded hard against the wooden block. "I'm a top citizen for the empire," not true, but still. "Oh, gods. Oh gods." 

Monne squeezed her eyes shut, as she felt the wind suddenly shift as she thought that was the axe bringing itself down. This was it. But the voices in her head were getting louder and more familiar, telling her to-

"Look in the clouds!"

"Sentries, what do you see?" Monne opened one eye, then the other as she saw it. _What the-_ Something that could have been from a nightmare, and something that could have only been from the tales and stories and the legends. Black wings unfurled and spread throughout the sky, blocking out the sun and casting a huge ebony shadow onto the village, also casting terror across the civilians' faces.

Scales appeared, but not just the scales of a Hammerfell lizard, oh no. This was something bigger, a hundred times bigger. And those were barely even scales, they were shredded bits of grey ebony skin held together by fat sinews and large limbs that ended in the biggest set of claws that Monne had seen in her life. She still sat, dumbstruck by the image of this unbelievable thing that she was seeing as it landed heavily onto the tower in front of her, looking straight into her eyes with its own set of piercing white, slittled pupils. As you could imagine, utter chaos ensued. It was a mess of screaming, shouting and running.

"It's in the clouds!"

"Oh gods, a dragon! Help! Oh gods help!"

"It can't be! Impossible!"

"Well, don't just stand there! Kill that thing!"

Monne finall managed to roll off the block, still unable to take her eyes off the thing glaring at her from above. It opened its mouth, and Monne swore she could understand what it was saying as it shouted, louder than any man or mer could ever shout, and suddenly it was able to make the clouds swirl in circles above them and flaming rocks come hurtling from the skies like meteorites. It looked like Monne was going to die in a way she hadnt expected that day.

"It's the end times!"

"Guards, get the townspeople to safety!"

She scrambled onto her heels but still managed to stumble back onto her knees as she felt the impact of a vast rock hitting the cottages behind her. But it wasn't just one rock. 

"Someone get the battlemages out here, now! Come on!"

Monne then decided it was her utmost priority to just get up onto her feet again, so with a mighty grunt pulled from her chest, she struggled to her feet. Her head pulsing from the ear-splitting crashes and booms from the impact of the rocks hitting the ground, Monne found her vision had been compromised, as it blurred heavily, making her see the ground as some sort of cloudy soup. She bent over again.

Her ears made a deafening ringing noise, that she couldn't even try to escape from. But even through this infuriating ringing in her ears and the fuzzing, starry vision, she felt an unfamiliar hand on her back and a sudden shout from in front of her. It was a male voice, but from within the blaring chaos, Monne couldn't tell at all.

"Hey Redguard, get up! Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!" Monne felt herself being hoisted up from the back of the tunic she had on, and despite the indistinguishable sights of billowing fire and crumbling towers, she felt like she was being pulled by a blonde man into a keep, opposite to where she had gotten off the cart. Shutting her eyes, she blindly followed his energy. _Don't die, don't die, don't die, don't die-_

Roaring sounded all around her head in a circular motion, not giving her time to think, let alone speak to the guy. But the noise in her ears finally stopped after she found herself gasping on the floor of a stone tower, knealt before two shaking stormcloak soldiers lying in a heap on the floor. She could still hear the thunderous roars from the dragon outside, having no trouble getting around this village.

"Ralof, you're alive! Thank Talos."

_I'm alive too. Somehow. Suck my dick, dragon._ She found herself dusting herself off, even though she could still barely hear her own thoughts, and she turned, smiling, to the man who had saved her life and an ungagged Ulfric Stormcloak. _I am awesome._

Gasping almost as much as Monne, Ralof sighed, "Jarl Ulfric, what was that thing? Could the legends be true?"

Almost unfazed by it, he grumbled back, "Legends don't burn down villages."


End file.
